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Ask any expatriate, exchange student, fellow traveler, or even the guy selling strawberries down at the Saturday market, and they’ll all tell you the same thing: Swedish women are confusing, even more so than… I’ve gone on a few dates here, and every time found myself more and more perplexed. They’re well-educated, know exactly what they want in life, and usually speak with an accent that makes us men melt every time we hear it. Allow me to illustrate by sharing my personal experiences. stereotype that Swedish women go crazy for American guys, and let my friends do the rest to inflate my ego to levels perhaps only rivaled by Muhammad Ali or Zlatan Ibrahimovic himself.well, there might not be anything more confusing than Swedish women. Oh, and did I mention almost all of them look like they should be modeling somewhere? I’ll admit I’ve always been a little nervous courting the opposite sex, probably due to watching – as God is my witness – more romantic comedies than quite possibly any other heterosexual male on earth. I was young, I was in good shape, and I was American: when I arrived in Sweden, the ladies wouldn’t stand a chance.
But as the weeks went by, I gaped in paralyzed horror as my self-esteem was quickly ground into mush.
Not only did all my previously held notions turn out to be totally wrong, but it seemed the opposite was true; compared to the endless number of good-looking, well-muscled, and much better dressed Swedish guys, it seemed no woman was interested in a pale, skinny American with absolutely zero fashion sense and a shaggy haircut. In one swift blow, my self-esteem returned to its liquidous state. The two of us had something in common right away: both of us studied journalism.
Eventually, however, I drummed up enough courage to ask a girl from one of my classes for a fika in Teleborgs Slott. A few weeks later, it evaporated entirely when, after getting the phone number of a girl I had warmed up to, she rejected me by flat-out saying I wasn’t her “type.” Looking back on it, I probably asked her out for the wrong reasons anyway, but if I had known what I know now I could’ve gotten a lot more sleep. She seemed to spend every moment picking my brains on life in the U. We had similar tastes in music and movies, and even shared a secret passion for documentaties. By the time I finally excused myself and went home, it was past 4 a.m.
We talked, laughed, and I somehow managed to pay for her – something many Swedish women, I knew, were not used to. I asked her to dinner, assuming the answer would be an automatic “yes.” Instead, I received a text message explaining that dinner would feel “too much like a date.” In all my 21 years, I had never been so confused. A few weeks after her – whom my friends only refer to as “Miss A” – there was yet another girl. We hung out every day for about a week, and finally one night she spontaneously invited me over for dinner. She had poured her heart out to me, displayed the entire spectrum of human emotion, told me things she said she had never told anyone else – or so I thought.
We hung out a few more times and, in my mind, there was no way I could fail. Unlike the others, she took the initiative of “first contact” by talking to me after a class we shared. We ate a nice meal of chicken and rice, and then we talked for a bit. A couple weeks later, she told me she was seeing someone.